Number One Crush
by Bisouretro
Summary: A message about unrequited love.


_{{Own the characters? No. Own the story? Yes. Love reviews? Most definitely. Approve of plagarism? Most definitely not. Proceed accordingly. And please enjoy.}}  
  
  
  
**Number One Crush**_

  
  


* * * * * * * * * * * * 

  
  
From: "Marie"   
To: ln7@hotmail.com  
Date: Mon, 30 Nov 2002 01:38:47 +0700  
  
I know I'm not supposed to like anybody.  
  
You know. If it weren't the whole mutant touch-of-death thing, it would be my personality. And the way I look. And the things I like. And the way I act.  
  
I think I would be a loner even if I was normal.  
  
In fact, I think I would be abnormal even if I was normal.  
  
I'd probably be one of those kids who stays in corners, dresses in black, never talks, doesn't crack a smile. I'd listen to weird bands nobody else had ever heard of. I'd probably have a slight drinking problem, watch a lot of movies about vampires, have one friend in another state, and attempt suicide monthly.  
  
Suicide - now there's a plan I haven't considered yet.  
  
Interesting.   
  
Yeah, I guess I'm getting a little bit offtrack here. The point is - the point is, I am a misfit. I can either spend all my time crying about it, or I can just chin up and live my life and not give a damn about who I am or what I can and can't do.   
  
I don't mean for this to be whiney.  
  
I wouldn't be writing it at all.   
  
Except - yeah.   
  
Things kind of changed with me, lately. It started out innocently enough. He was really the only one I felt an actual bond with. He was pretty nice to me. He smiled at me. He seemed to sympathize. Not in any special way. Not in a corny way, I mean. We would be around each other and we would relax.   
  
We had something in common.  
  
Maybe a little older than the others?  
  
Maybe a little wiser.  
  
The others, they had ponytails and shiny hair and clothes fresh from the mall. They laughed at new releases. They listened to the Top 40. They enjoyed life.  
  
Maybe we had both forgotten too much to be happy.  
  
Or maybe we both remembered too much.  
  
I didn't mean for it to be anything special. I felt a bond with him, but I told myself it was just because he was the only one who didn't like the color blue. He was the only one who thought of escaping as much as I did, and he was the only one who had seen a life away from safe walls and warm faces. He had seen danger, blood, sex, and violence. He had tasted the dark side of life.  
  
And.   
  
So had I.  
  
Which is why - after a while - against everything my mind told me - I think I fell in love.  
  
People tell me this isn't love.   
  
This is a crush.  
  
I think "crush" has a painful sound to it. Like being smothered to death or being buried under an enormous boulder.   
  
So maybe this is a crush.   
  
Maybe they're right.  
  
I fought against it, but not for long. You can't ignore quickening heartbeats and sweaty palms, and that acute awareness you get whenever the person is around you. The way you can tell where they are, no matter where they go, and all the time you pretend not to even notice. The way you dream of them at night, in actual dreams, not just fantasies. And the way their smile, their unsuspecting smile, can send you flying on sunshine for days.   
  
But all the happiness has a sour side.  
  
When that person seems to ignore you, in favor of somebody else - somebody taller, prettier, skinnier, more mature, more talkative - you feel as if you can't move. You're weighted down, crushed with misery. You alternate between hate and love and always, always, that horrible useless jealousy. You feel your mouth turn sour when you see them together, happy. And you're behind the curtains alone. Scrawny and strange and alone.   
  
That's the way it was with me.  
  
He fell for her, and we stopped being friends.  
  
We couldn't even be friends.  
  
And that sense of companionship and comfort you felt for a while, that feeling that everything would be OK and adventure would return, it all vanished. Leaving you even more cold and confused and miserable than before.  
  
I stopped imagining warm arms around me at night.  
  
Impossible.  
  
Same with: long kisses.  
  
Same with: shared showers.   
  
Same with: escape on motorcycle.  
  
But not the same with other kinds of escape.  
  
I don't really know what to say him.  
  
Logan.   
  
Maybe you know what to say?  
  



End file.
